Sunday, 24 April 2016



As the cold grey blanket of dawn lifted
he shivered, just as he had so long ago. 
He couldn't get the noises out of his head
nor could he forget the smoke or the screams.
Yet, today, his eyes were filled not with smoke, 
but with tears.
They rolled silently down his cheeks
as memories flooded back.

He started to shake, just a little
then she took his hand in hers, 
warm and comforting..
he felt a little easier. 
"Grandad, all these people are here because of you,
because of your mates, because of all you did for us."

She led him to the memorial 
and they laid their poppies, 
then, as they turned to leave,
the small crowd parted and one,
raised their candles in salute.
The last of their ANZACS 
passed peacefully that evening
to rejoin his unit. 

 (c)Crissouli 24 April, 2016

Image free use courtesy Pixabay

Saturday, 23 April 2016



If he closed his eyes, he could see her still
her soft brown hair teased by a gentle breeze
her smiling eyes, glistening with tears 
as she kissed him farewell.
He'd taken her hand and touched the shiny gold ring
he'd placed there just twenty four hours earlier.
He'd reassured her that it'd be over soon
he'd be home before she knew it.
He promised to bring her a present, whatever she'd like.
"Just a flower, something to show me where you've been,
nothing more."

They found him in a field of poppies
one perfect flower tucked into his pocket, 
along with a half written letter...
"I'm coming home..."

© Crissouli April 23, 2016

In memory of all who gave their future for ours.

Image Free use, courtesy of Pixabay

Wednesday, 17 February 2016



Reams of paper, maybe stacked precariously high
or neatly filed, in carefully labelled folders

"Notes of births, of marriages, now what year did he die?"

Coloured pages, inserted here and there
notepads and photos, pencils, clips and pens

"Really must get organised, this desk gets too much glare."

Bookmarks noted, from one website to another
two monitors make it easier, just scroll a little more 

"Mmm, that census looks interesting, is that another brother?"

Dinner won't be long then, or so it ought to be
lots of scribbled notes now, then a happy dance..
She's off, gathering yesterdays, for her family tree.

                                                                                (c)Crissouli 17th Feb, 2016

Saturday, 23 January 2016



When I grow old, I will not long for youth, 
rather I will celebrate what has gone before 
and look forward to what each day brings.
I will enjoy the company of myself, as well as that of family and friends..
of new discoveries, of revisiting old interests and developing new ones.
I will revel in choosing yes or no or maybe.. without guilt or reason.
I will enjoy friendships, both near and far....
I will take time to watch butterflies flit among the flowers
and listen to bird song every day...
I will drench myself in summer showers..
and sing in the moonlight...
I will write what I wish and read all I can...
Silken threads will be my palette
as I create simple things of beauty...
I will surround myself with roses and violets and daisies
I will bake at midnight if I wish
and eat fruit and cream for tea...
When I grow old, I will be me...

 (c)Crissouli Jan 24, 2016

Inspired by the post of my friend... Angela...

Sunday, 8 November 2015


He found her in the sodden paddock, crying
her face and arms covered in mud.
He moved towards her, slowly,
taking her in his arms, ever so gently.
No words needed, none would be heard..
they'd been here before.
Slowly, they made their way back
to the old barn, filled with hay.
She wouldn't go to the house, not today.
As he helped her to sit, she pulled away.
He stepped back, watching from the shadows
his heart aching.
He wondered how long this would be
it mattered not, he would wait.
He owed her his life, she waited for him.
It'd been so long ago, in the fields of France.
He'd lain, covered in mud
near the village of Pozieres
all hope fading, till he felt her soft hand
wiping his brow and a cool, wet cloth touching his lips.
She'd almost stumbled over him
while searching for food in her father's field.
His next memory was of resting in a barn
half covered in old blankets and hay.
She nursed him back to health
over three long months
then helped him to get back to his unit. 

He returned, years after, to see the girl who saved him
she, no longer a girl, he, no longer a boy
but united forever.
They settled into farm life, far away
but the fields of France never left them.
He'd wait, she'd return, till the next time.

(c) Crissouli Nov 9, 2015

Tuesday, 27 October 2015



'twas a just wee drop, yor'oner
just  a wee drop..
with a house full of dotes 
and my man oft away
          sure, 'twas just a wee drop.
             I'm a respectable woman, yor'oner
            'twas just a wee drop for me nerves.
             My man's an upstanding gentleman
              please don't use his name here m'lord
              use me godgiven name, please yor'oner
            I won't drink a drop any more 
                Oh, thank you, yor'honer, yor worship
            Sure I'll find the 5s for poor!
                     (c) Crissouli October 2015

Inspired by a TROVE post...